Part 23 (1/2)
”I can't tell. I must think things over. Do you say you have the confession in your pocket?”
”Yes; in my breast pocket. Here is the envelope sticking out above my coat.”
”Give it to me,” said Jim, stretching out his big hand.
”Not I. That's my affair. I can make use of this. Why, I could hold a thing of this sort over the head of your fair bride, and blackmail her, if necessary.”
”No, no, Sampson; you are not a ruffian, of that sort.”
George Sampson suddenly changed his manner.
”As far as you are concerned, Jim, I am no ruffian,” he said. ”To tell the plain truth, I have always liked yer, and I'll act by you as straight as a die in this matter. If you never do anything else, you've saved me from being the husband of that gel, and I'll be thankful to you for it to my dying day. But for the Lord's sake, don't you put yourself into the noose now. You can't be so mad, surely.”
”Leave me for to-night, Sampson,” said Jim in a voice of entreaty. ”I can't say anything, I must think. Leave me for to-night.”
The detective got up slowly, whistled in a significant manner, and left the room.
”Now, if Jim Hardy is quixotic enough to marry Louisa Clay after what I have said, I'll never speak to a good man again as long as I live,” he muttered.
But Jim Hardy had not made up his mind how to act at all; he was simply stunned. When he found himself alone he sank down on a chair close to his little center table, put his elbows on the table, and buried his head in his big hands. The whole bewildering truth was too much for him. He was honest and straight himself, and could not understand duplicity. Louisa's conduct was incomprehensible to him. What should he do now? Should he be true to one so false? This question began dimly to struggle to obtain an answer in his mind. He had scarcely begun to face it, when a knock at the door, and the shrill voice of his landlady calling out, ”I have got a letter for you, Mr. Hardy, you are in favor with the post to-night,” reached him.
He walked across the room, opened the door, and took the letter from the landlady's hand. She gave him a quick, curious glance; she saw shrewdly enough that something was worrying him.
”Why do he go and marry a girl like that Clay creature?” she muttered to herself as she whisked downstairs. ”I wouldn't have her if she had double the money they say he's to get with her.”
Jim meanwhile stared hard at the writing on his letter. It was in Louisa Clay's straggling, badly formed hand. He hastily tore open the envelope, and read the brief contents. They ran as follows:
”DEAR JIM,--I dare say you have heard something about me, and I don't go for to deny that that something is true. I was mad when I did it, but, mad or sane, it is best now that all should be over between you and me. I couldn't bear to marry you, and you knowing the truth. Then you never loved me--any fool could see that. So I am off out of London, and you needn't expect to see me any more.
”Yours no longer, ”LOUISA CLAY.”
Jim's first impulse when he had read this extraordinary and unexpected letter was to dance a hornpipe from one end of the room to the other; his next was to cry hip, hip, hurrah in a stentorian voice. His last impulse he acted upon. He caught up his hat and went out as fast as ever he could. With rapid strides he hurried through the crowded streets, reached the Bank, and presently found himself on the top of an omnibus which was to convey him to Bayswater. He was following his impulse with a beating heart, eyes that blazed with light, and lips that trembled with emotion. He had been a prisoner tied fast in chains of his own forging. All of a sudden he was free. Impulse should have its way. His heart should dictate to him in very earnest at last.
With Louisa's letter and his uncle's letter in his pocket, he presently reached the great house where Mrs. Faulkner lived. He had often pa.s.sed that house since Alison had gone to it, walking hungrily past it at dead of night, thinking of the girl whom he loved but might never win; now he might win his true love after all--he meant to try. His triumphant steps were heard hurrying down the pavement. He pulled the servants' bell and asked boldly for Alison.
”Who shall I say?” asked the kitchen-maid who admitted him.
”Say Jim Hardy, and that my message is urgent,” was the reply.
The girl, who was impressed by Jim's goodly height and breadth, invited him into the housekeeper's parlor, where Alison joined him in a few minutes. Her face was like death when she came in; her hand shook so that she could scarcely hold it out for Jim to clasp. He was master, however, on this occasion--the averted eyes, the white face, the shaking hand were only all the more reasons why he should clasp the maiden he loved to his heart. He strode across the room and shut the door.
”Can we be alone for a few minutes?” he said.
”I suppose so, Jim, if--if it is necessary,” said Alison.
”It is necessary. I have something to say.”
Alison did not reply. She was trembling more than ever.